In The End
by Volkie
Summary: In a way, she was glad. She would rather die than live in a London controlled by commoners and second-raters.


So, because right now I have a huge case of writer's block with my current project, (A novel I've been working on for a couple months) I've turned to taking requests for oneshots/ short stories (short meaning things that would be one or two chapters long). I'll only do stuff in this fandom, and won't do anything involving slash. Other than that, I'll write just about anything. This one was requested by Didier, so I hope you enjoy!

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Accompanied by the few low-ranking magicians who had chosen to follow her, Jane Farrar stormed her way through the hall, her tangled hair flowing out rather messily behind her. She flung open the nearest door, scanned the pentacles in the room, and slammed the door shut again, her face flushed a deep cherry red with rage.

She tried the next door, swinging it open even more violently than she had the previous one. Again, she was met with the same sight. The pentacles had been very thoroughly destroyed- the stonework upon which they were based has either been blasted away, leaving rubble strewn across the room, or the pentacles simply scorched away.

"It's no good," the shortest of her companions said, having returned from the opposite end of the hall, where he had been searching, "They've all been destroyed; we'll have to find a spot to draw som-"

"We haven't got the time for that, you idiot!" she exclaimed, punctuating the statement with a sharp slap to the man's face.

The man stood there rubbing his face, which had a vaguely indignant expression plastered across it.

"Hurry up!" Ms. Farrar urged as she strode quickly down the hall, refusing to run. She intended to keep whatever shreds of dignity she had remaining.

At the point where the hallway split off into two separate branches, she stopped, turned, and addressed the weaker magicians. "You two," she indicated the short one, and the man standing next to him. "Go scout the building for any remaining demons. Meet me back here. If you're not here by the time I return, I will presume you have been eaten. Meanwhile, you" she pointed at the remaining man, "Will accompany me while I gather my wolves."

The chubbiest of the men moved a few steps towards Farrar, while the other men simply stood in place.

"Well?" Farrar raised an eyebrow. "What are you waiting for? Get going." Her tone had a dangerous edge to it; that of one who had been pushed almost to their breaking point.

"But don't you think we should-"

The man never got to finish his question. Instead, Farrar cut him off with an angry snarl. Her eyes had acquired a wild look to them. Combined with the disheveled state of her hair and clothing, she almost looked insane.

"I'm in charge here! You will do as I say!" She appeared to regain control of herself, for when she next spoke her voice had regained its usual cool calmness. "Now, go scout for the demons. I want a full report on any signs of their whereabouts. If you can manage to locate a scrying glass, all the better. Don't bother trying to find any undamaged pentacles, I doubt that anything any of you could summon would be of any help." With that, she turned and strode purposefully away, the chubby magician trailing along behind her.

When she returned to the spot, she was accompanied by approximately two dozen members of the Night Police. About half of them had sustained minor injuries of some sort, all caused by the rioting commoners outside. Devereaux was a fool for ever allowing them to get this out of hand- had she been in charge she would have crushed them at the first sign of dissent, nipping their pathetic little rebellion in the bud.

"There are no signs of the demons anywhere in the building, Ms. Farrar." The two magicians had returned, looking only slightly worse for the wear- most likely due to all the running about they had done.

"They don't appear to be anywhere nearby either. I think that they've gone-"

Farrar cut him off sharply. "I don't need your advice. Follow me and stay silent."

The magicians did as they were bid, and soon the small group found themselves out on the streets of London. Before them, a great picture of devastation was painted. Streets had been torn up, cars flipped over, and houses set ablaze. Here and there, a few commoners wandered around in a state of shock. Upon seeing the group of magicians, one such woman had flung herself at the group, begging for their aid.

"Thanks goodness!" she had exclaimed before flying towards them with remarkable speed.

A member of the Night Police wrestled with her, trying detach the hysterical woman from the group.

"Please! You have to help me! They took my son, please, help me...' the woman trailed off, breaking into tears.

"Get off my leg," Farrar said in disgust, shaking her leg in a futile attempt to separate herself from the woman. "I suspect your son is already dead. If he isn't, he will be shortly."

The woman began to wail even louder, flailing senselessly as the same member of the Night Police who had fought her finally succeeded in breaking her grip. The woman was thrown unceremoniously across the street, where she continued to sob.

"Come on." Farrar signaled for the group to keep moving with a wave of her hand. "They can't have gotten very far. We'll just follow the trail of destruction and it will lead us straight to them."

Indeed, the demons had left a large trail of destruction in their wake. It seemed that they had only became more destructive, and even angrier, as their rampage across London had continued. Now, the houses were no longer burning- they had simply been reduced to piles of rubble strewn across the streets.

For once, Farrar began to doubt herself. Just how strong were the demons in question? Perhaps it would be better to take a more cautious course of action? No. That wouldn't do at all. She, for once- not that upstart Mandrake- would be hailed as the savior of London. And then everyone would show her the respect that she so rightfully deserved. No more bowing down to pathetic weaklings like Devereaux, no more treading carefully to avoid angering the wrong person, no more compromising to get what she wanted. No, after this was over she would be in charge. Her first order of business would be to send out demons and crush those insolent commoners who dared-

Farrar's thoughts were sharply cut off by the sudden appearance of a man behind her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him seemed... off. The Night Police could tell it too. Even in their human forms they could smell something, Farrar was sure of it.

Her questions about the man were answered when he lobbed a Detonation at her, which Farrar barely dodged. Fragments of asphalt flew up into the air, and came crashing back down to the ground as quickly as they had taken flight.

Several things happened at once. About half of the Night Police shifted into their wolf forms, while the magicians including Farrar took a few steps backward, placing the Night Police between themselves and the rogue demon. At the same time, the demon launched an Inferno, catching several of the wolves off guard. While the flaming wolves tried to put themselves out , the Night Police that had remained in their human forms drew out various forms of silver weaponry and charged at the demon, who held his ground, an amused smile playing across its lips.

"Cloaked in human flesh as I am," the demon chuckled, "Your silver will do nothing to harm me."

With a bat of its hand the demon sent most of the Night Police sprawling on the ground. Then it casually picked a silver dagger out of its arm and threw it at one of the wolves, striking it directly in the chest. With a yelp, the wolf collapsed and reverted back to her human form.

"Keep attacking it!" Farrar commanded, seeing that her wolves had fallen back, faces ashen, as the demon scooped up the fallen wolf and devoured her whole. A quick glance to her left, then to her right, revealed that the two magicians would also be of little help. Trembling with fear, they had both retreated several metres backwards, and when Farrar looked again, she saw only their backs as they fled. They had been useless anyway; she didn't need them.

The demon raised a hand, and Farrar was forced to leap out of the way and throw herself to the ground as a Detonation whizzed past her. It was quickly followed by several more, each of which she barely avoided. The few Night Police who had remained in human form now changed into wolves and threw themselves at the demon, forcing it to turn its attentions from Farrar. While it was distracted, she retrieved a dagger from one of the bodies that the demon had not yet eaten, and held it awkwardly in her hand. She would have much prefered to stay a safe distance from the combat, but if the alternative was being blasted to pieces, she'd take her chances fighting.

She charged into the fray, dagger gripped tightly in hand. Sure silver would not harm the thing, but it was in a human body now, so perhaps if she could kill the body, the demon then too would die, or at least be rendered helpless. The dagger sank deep into the flesh of the demon's arm; blood oozed out from around the dagger. Farrar again took hold of the dagger's hilt and pulled, producing a sickening slurping noise as the dagger left the demon's arm. She plunged it down again, this time hitting the demon on the side.

The joint efforts of Farrar and the Night Police eventually did pay off, and the demon's body slumped lifeless to the ground. For what could have been seconds, or perhaps minutes- it was hard to tell- there was a great silence. The Night Police reverted back to their human forms, nursing many wounds. Finally, Farrar broke the silence.

"That was only one of them. There will be many more out there." Farrar began to walk away, then noticed that none of her Night Police were following her. She snapped her fingers impatiently. "Follow me," she said through gritted teeth.

"With all due respect ma'am, it would be suicide to pursue the demons. We barely held out against that one; me and my men are all badly injured already- or dead."

'We're getting out of here," another one spoke up.

A dark look crossed Farrar's face. She marched up to the man and grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt. "It would also be suicide to flee. How long do you honestly think that we would survive if the demons managed to fully gain control of London? That idiot Mandrake will be fighting them too, so we shouldn't have to worry about encountering more than one that once. " She suddenly released the man, sending him stumbling backwards, arms pinwheeling. "Now let's get going- the less time we waste, the better."

This time, when Farrar turned to leave, the remaining members of the Night Police followed behind her, with weapons in hand. They walked in silence for what seemed like forever, remaining constantly on alert, constantly glancing behind their backs for signs of movement. As time progressed, the group grew continually more nervous. The streets were desolate, with no signs of life whatsoever. No commoners, no magicians, no demons.

Then, by the lights of the Glass Palace, Farrar could make out the silhouettes of a group of people. She signaled her men to stop. "Can you tell who they are?"

"No."

Farrar slowly continued, and as she got closer, she could see that one of the figures was holding a stick of wood, much like a staff. Her nose wrinkled. "Mandrake." She turned to the right; in the direction of a street that led away from the Glass Palace. Whatever half-witted scheme he had come up with, she wanted no part of it. Although it did appear that he had succeeded in getting his hands on Gladstone's Staff. She was just surprised that he had not knocked himself out yet.

It was a wolf's howl that first alerted her to the presence of the demon. Before she had any time to react, all five remaining wolves had launched themselves at it. She could make out a flash of fire behind its eyes as it raised its hand in a slow, jerky manner. A Detonation blossomed from the hand. This time, Farrar did not dodge- the Detonation hit her directly.

In a way, she was glad. She would rather die than live in a London controlled by commoners and second-raters. And die she did.


End file.
